


only a winner and a loser

by whyclarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lincoln mention, abuse mention, death mention, i swear all i write are sad stories, it's croctavia yall sorry, it's fine tho i Love to Suffer, lexa mention, protect bellamy blake, so does bellamy by the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9826754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyclarke/pseuds/whyclarke
Summary: from the prompt by AJ: “Canon Divergence/AU: What if the S3 timeline was changed so that Clarke ends up running into the Delinquents at the cave before reaching Arkadia, before they turn Bellamy over. So she is present when everyone learns of Lincoln's death and for the aftermath.”aka clarke is there when bellamy gets beat up and is Very Upsettitle from Two Evils by Bastille





	

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to isabelle (find her @bellamythology if you haven't already bc she's a gift ok) for beta-ing this fic and turning it into something resembling a story. you're a blessing and i can't thank you enough!

Clarke understands what it feels like to lose your love. She has come to know Death intimately, as intimately as she wished she knew Lexa before Titus - _No. Focus on now,_ Clarke reminds herself. _Focus on keeping Ontari away from the Flame, and Luna, and anything but Lexa._

 

She slows to a stop anyways, opening the tin in her hands and examining the AI within. Clarke searches for a piece of Lexa in the silicone gem, shoulders shaking with silent sobs and vision clouding with yet-unshed tears. She is lost in her own grief, drowning in her guilt and sorrow, as she turns her eyes towards the puffs of red smoke signaling that the great Commander, Lexa kom Trikru, is dead. She hears the keening horns of the Grounder villages mourning their commander.

 

And then she hears the gunshot, and the scream.

 

She races towards the source, her bereavement tucked behind a sense of purpose, of _urgency,_ that blocks out the white noise of her sorrow. She knows that voice - the scream is unmistakably Octavia’s, and Clarke knows that something is terribly, horribly wrong. She urges her horse to go faster, and when it doesn’t she goes on foot, cutting through the thick brush that the mare could not maneuver through.

 

When she finds the six rebels standing on the cliff face, she can see the weight of anguish on the younger girl’s shoulders, turning Octavia’s pretty face angry and cruel. She knows what has happened before Kane even opens his mouth.

 

“We tried to get him to come with us, Clarke, but he knew that if he left, his people would be the ones to suffer. Lincoln died a hero.” His voice is hollow, and Clarke knows that Kane is lost in the memory.

 

“He shouldn’t have had to die at all,” Octavia snaps, and stalks ahead.

 

***

 

Clarke notices the chains first. His wrists are bleeding from where he has tugged at the shackles imprisoning him, blood dotting the skin of his hands and forearms. He wears his guard jacket, his tan t-shirt peeking out from under the collar, and she notes distantly that he was wearing the same one when she saw him last. He stands when he sees her, his eyes haunted and afraid, but she stays silent.

 

The others file in after her, wearing matching expressions of grim misery, but it isn’t until Octavia enters the cave that his shoulders sag in relief. His eyes flick back to the entrance of the cave, waiting, but the seconds pile into minutes and Lincoln is still lying faceup in a pool of mud and rain and blood and brains, and Bellamy has finally figured it out.

 

“Where’s Lincoln?” His voice is desolate, seeped with the bitter tang of guilt, and his gaze locks onto his sister as she turns away.

 

“Pike put a bullet in his brain.” Her voice is choked but icy with rage, the shadow of Lincoln’s death freezing her heart into a weapon. Bellamy takes a step back like she’s wounded him, his eyes flicking to Clarke and back again, and Clarke can feel the force of his contrition.

 

“O,” he breathes, “O, I am so sorry -”

 

Octavia hits him.

 

The others twitch forward as if to protect him from his sister, but Bellamy looks up at Octavia and says nothing. His brown eyes, so unguarded in the dim light of the cave, tell Clarke everything - he thinks he _deserves_ this, that this is his penance for choosing the wrong side, that it’s better for everyone if he suffers for what he has done. And so he looks at his little sister, and he puts his chin up as if to say, _it’s okay, O. Do what you need to._

 

Octavia sobs as her fists slam into Bellamy’s face, her cries harsh in the silent cave. Clarke puts her hand on the Flame like a child clutching a blanket after a nightmare as Kane steps forward, his voice soothing and calm.

 

“Octavia, that’s enough.”

 

“Kane.” Bellamy’s voice is a warning, fierce and sudden. “Stay out of this.”

 

When Octavia’s fists pummel Bellamy once more, Clarke feels her knees buckle. She can hear Bellamy’s stifled cries as Octavia knees him in the stomach, hear the sickening crack of bone as she breaks her own brother’s nose. Bellamy falls to the ground and Clarke cries out, screaming for Octavia to stop, but he only crawls onto his knees to give his sister a better angle. Clarke sinks to the ground as Octavia hits him once, twice, until Miller moves to stop her. She shoves him away, her despair crescendoing into a piercing screech.

 

“Miller!” Bellamy’s motives are clear to Clarke, now. “Back off.”

 

Octavia hits him again, and again, and again, until Clarke can’t bear it anymore. She collapses in front of Bellamy’s bloodied form and stares up at his sister, steadfast in her newfound determination.

 

“I made a deal with Lexa that put a kill order on Lincoln’s head and forced him to live in Arkadia. I didn’t ask Lexa to lift it during negotiations so that the two of you could leave. I stayed in Polis after the blockade began when I could have come to help you save him. I deserve this as much as he does, Octavia. Hit _me._ ”

 

“ _No_ ,” Bellamy moans. “O, I am the _reason_ Lincoln is dead. Leave her out of this.” He stumbles in front of Clarke, protecting her with his own body. Octavia strikes Bellamy’s cheek, sending him reeling, and slams his head into the wall so hard he crumples to the ground, unresponsive. Clarke rushes to him, Miller dragging Octavia away from his stilled form.  

 

“Bellamy, no, not like this, not after Lexa,” Clarke mumbles, brushing his hair out of his closed eyes. His face is covered in gore, spit and blood dripping from his open mouth, and his curls are matted with the stuff from his wounds. “Come on, Bellamy, wake up. I can’t do this without you, not now. Bellamy, _please._ ” Tears blur her vision as she cradles his head in her arms, and for a moment, she thinks he has stopped breathing. Her throat closes up and her vision tunnels. She can’t do this without him.

 

Thick hot tears splash onto his tan t-shirt like rain, or blood, and she is terrified by how much she _needs_ him. She loved Lexa, sure, but she could live without her. She would feel better one day, when she had time to process and move on; she would be okay.

 

But without Bellamy, Clarke is lost - there is no one who will pull the lever with her, no one who she can trust so utterly and completely. Without Bellamy, Clarke is alone. And the realization scares her more than Ontari ever could.

 

Suddenly, he sputters. Coughs. Turns away from her to spit out the blood that has clogged his windpipe. She rests her forehead on his chest in relief, feeling his heart beat solidly beneath her.

 

“ _Octavia_.” It is a prayer on his lips. His sister turns to face the pair of them, hatred in her eyes.

 

“You're _dead_ to me.” Venom drips from the words. Bellamy shudders, the force hitting him harder than any blow his sister dealt, and watches Octavia turn away. His eyes, so full of heartbreak, follow her as she leaves him.

 

“My sister, my responsibility,” he whispers, despondent, and Clarke knows that Octavia has finally broken him.

 

“Bellamy, this was not your fault.” Clarke’s words pull him from the precipice, and he stares up at her.

 

“Clarke, I’ve lost her.”

 

“And you’ll get her back. Bellamy, we could've lost _you_. _I_ could have lost _-”_ Clarke’s voice cracks on the word, and she takes a deep breath. When she continues, her voice wavers with melancholy.  “I could have lost you. And I _need_ you, Bellamy, now more than ever. You don't have to just sit there and _take_ that, and-”

 

“You of all people should understand, Clarke.” Bellamy interrupts her, anger bleeding into his words. “If not me, then who? I bear it, so they don't have to.”

 

“You shouldn't have to bear it either, Bellamy!” And then the tears come.

 

Bellamy softens, pulling her into his chest. He smells like sweat and blood and lemongrass, like moonshine and memories. He smells like _home,_ and Clarke has been away for a very long time. For a quiet moment, they lie there, intertwined, as Clarke sniffles into his sturdy figure. And then she shifts, disentangling herself from him, and looks into his dark, haunted eyes.

 

“You don't deserve to bear it,” she says quietly, and hugs him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> so, that happened. was it Extra? 100%. was it worth it? 100%. 
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](http://whyclarke.tumblr.com) so that we can cry about the new season and bellamy napping (napping!) on a couch. comments and kudos will be cherished forever, so please don't hesitate to tell me what you think!


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